Don't tell me not to be afraid. My son has died and I am not afraid of much, but this week I am afraid of some things. This week I am afraid of hospitals. I am fine as a hospital visitor, as a chaplain, as an observer. I am not squeamish, I have no sense of smell, and I am just generally not bothered when my own self is not the focus of medical care. But when I am the focus ~ let's just say that I have childhood memories that have worn grooves into my soul, and I get to be afraid.
Don't tell me that they'll manage the pain. I have never had adequate pain management, so I feel completely undermined when I think you are lying. You probably aren't lying, at least not intentionally, but I am pretty sure that the reality is not going to be pain-free, or what hospital folks call "uncomfortable." I'm pretty sure that it's going to be hell. So let me have the truth of that.
Don't tell me that it's not all that big a deal. It is, actually, in its own way. Or not. I can't tell. It's more like re-living the events of three years ago than it is its own thing, and that's a very big deal.
DON'T stand in a store and quote Bible verses in my face. Just DON'T. DO. THAT.